


Deliverance

by Theatrhythm



Category: Final Fantasy IX
Genre: Doppelganger, Eidolons, F/M, Gen, Muteness, Summoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 00:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatrhythm/pseuds/Theatrhythm
Summary: Something both foreign and familiar lurks in Oeilvert. Dagger figures it out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _"The ancient prototype ship, Ark, remains the oldest to date in our illustrious history. Its primary function was for war should the assimilation yield resistance, but Terra's shipbuilding technology was too primitive at the time of its conception, and was deemed a failure. Over time it took on the collective will and memory as a warship of Terra, and thus Ark was born._
> 
> _Ark's nature makes it more beast than battleship. Rather than destroy it, we housed it in the depths of these chambers, ever watching, ever guarding. The prototype's subsequent improvement, known as Invincible, was a success, and is currently in use. "_

_"Hi, I'm Zidane!"_

The sharp clattering of steel against iron ricochets off the chamber walls; Freya's lance carves smoothly through the lithe body like a hot knife through butter. There is no blood, only a hiss of steam from the blade as it sparks with friction before slicing cleanly through stone.

The Burmecian glances behind her helplessly - too late, Zidane is on the floor panting shallow breaths, eyes screwed shut - and swiftly she surges forward to lodge her lance deep into the epitaph, twisting until it shrieks, layers of sediment crumbling into a heap.

Then, silence.

Exhaling, she straightens. All that remains are chunks of still-smoking rubble.

"He's still breathing," says Amarant, kneeling over the blond with a flicker of something not quite concern, but enough to draw a phoenix down from the pouch cinched at his waist.

"I cannot say I understand these creatures, but they're depleting our stock of curatives rapidly," says Freya.

"Lucky my chakras aren't magic, or you'd be six feet under."

"And we appreciate it," she responds blithely, satisfied only when Zidane begins to stir. "Are you well, Zidane?"

The blond groans unintelligibly.

"Get up," says Amarant pointedly, prodding his side. "This place isn't doing wonders for your queen."

Freya casts a glance to the side. Dagger is kneeling by the doppelganger's cleaved corpse, her face hidden by her dark curtain of hair. Her hand hovers over the body.

"It's stone, your Majesty. Nothing more," says Freya gently. "Zidane is fine."

Dagger, ignoring her, runs a gloved finger across its cheek; there's no impression, no indentation, only chipped skin that crumbles. She glances back at the Burmecian, brows furrowed. Mouths something.

Freya frowns. "Magic?"

"Can't be magic," responds Amarant. "No-magic zone."

Dagger shakes her head, mouths something else, but Freya only cocks her head, uncertain, and Dagger sighs.

"Whatever it is, it's got some kind of vendetta against me. Makes me sound like a nerd," comes a grumbling voice from behind them. Zidane sits with a hunch, wiping his mouth with his forearm before corking the flask of the potion gripped in his other hand. Then, with a sarcastic chirp, " _Hi! I'm Zidane!_ "

"It is worrying," says Freya. "It has mimicked allies not even present. Where does it draw its knowledge from? Our memories?"

"Does it matter?" Zidane pushes himself to stand. "It can't draw from anything if it's dead."

Freya makes a displeased sound, but Zidane is already striding past her to rest a gloved hand on Dagger's shoulder. "Hey."

Dagger looks up at him, eyes wide.

"I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me."

She looks distressed again, but says nothing.

"C'mon, we've gotta move," he insists. "I don't like you being cooped up in here where you can't use your magic, Dagger." He reaches down to offer his hand, and her mouth sets into a thin line, but she takes it.

"Let us make haste, Zidane. The next chamber looks like it may yield something."

"By something, she means another stoning."

"You-"

"Children," chides Zidane soothingly.

Dagger walks past them, boots clicking against granite, and disappears into the next room.

The three share a look; Amarant shrugs, and Zidane rubs the back of his neck. "Shall we?"

 

***

 

  
The further they venture into the dim recesses of the ruins, the more Zidane sees in swarms of coded text projected in the low light, hears in whispers in his head, much to their unease. The glowing words are as garbled as any foreign tongue to unfamiliar ears, yet decipher to something legible, but he can't say why. He was never studious even in his leisure, so it's a mystery to him how he could have picked up a language without remembering doing so, much less for these strange alien characters, for the murmurs of  _Mother Terra_  chilling him to his core.

Freya traces one nail across characters engraved under one of the projections, barely visible under the shadows offset by the flickering blue flames illuminating the room. "Can you make any of this out, Zidane?"

He's not fluent, but it's just enough. "Something about an airship prototype... for the... Invincible?"

"Invincible? What might that be?"

"An airship, I'd venture," says Amarant dryly.

"Kuja's in the business of stealing airships that aren't his, isn't he? Maybe he knows about it," says Zidane, rubbing his chin. 

"Not _everyone_ steals ancient artefacts as a habit, unlike some people," snorts Freya.

"Since when are we holding Kuja as the standard for outstanding moral character? We've _literally_ been instructed to steal an ancient artefact here. Also, rude."

Freya ignores him. "I would not, however, venture that he is in possession of this _Invincible_. If these ruins are any indication, and these inscriptions..." She runs a finger on the placard, collecting a layer of dust and grime, caked thick and dark.

"Way too old," Zidane supplies. "And he's way too young. And probably not some ageless immortal."

"Can't be," chips in Amarant, "given he barely made it out with that doozy of a wound from the late Queen's pet dragon."

Zidane shoots him a dirty look, before glancing ahead at Dagger, who has gone unnaturally still. She doesn't turn around to acknowledge them, merely inspects one of the carvings on the wall with a focused interest. He can see her fists clench.

Amarant shrugs, but lowers his voice a few notches. "Facts are facts."

"I'm sure remember those facts will make her feel just swell," mutters Zidane, who pads ahead to catch up to her. "Hey, Dagger."

She doesn't react, still intent on the carving.

"Dagger, look, he didn't mean to bring up anything to hurt you. If-"

He pauses when she takes his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze; he feels his chest tighten. She then nods towards the placard, and his gaze drifts to the contents.

Her eyes probe him as his scan the unintelligible text, and he squints at some of the symbols. "It's... Something about memory. The prototype ship... a memory. A living memory?" He cocks his head. "How does that make sense?"

Dagger tugs on his arm, alert.

Zidane blinks. "What is it?"

She tugs again, mouths to him, her fingers curling around her pendant. Zidane glances at it, then back to her, in confusion.

"Magic? Dagger, you _know_ that's impossible here, we keep coming back to this. That's exactly why Kuja couldn't come-"

"Zidane, Dagger," calls Freya from a few paces ahead, gesturing to the pathway, "you may want to see this."

She sighs and reaches up to massage her temples, clearly frustrated.

Zidane reaches up to squeeze her shoulder and gives her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Dagger. I'm trying to understand but... C'mon. Maybe the next room will clear things up for us both, okay?"

But it doesn't, not at all; it's more pictures and whispers and civilizations and planets and _Mother Terra_ again and again and again and Zidane feels like he could use a massage for his growing migraine, too.

It isn't until they're in the brightly lit chamber of chipped masks, worn with age and decay, that Freya also barks in panic and Amarant clutches his own head, and Zidane realizes the words are no longer meant for him alone. Dagger draws her arms tight around herself, stone-faced and pale, her eyes trained on their mouths, mechanical and strange and somehow mesmerizing as their voices reverberate through the room until they sink into silence.

"Final results pending? I don't understand," says Freya after, stepping down from the platform.

"Yeah, welcome to the club. And despite my newfound linguistics degree, I'm not interested in dwelling on it," says Zidane grimly, pacing steadily to the door. "Our friends are in danger. We have to save them first."

 

***

 

They've all lost patience by the final projection, two planets flickering red and blue as they converge into a purple haze, and Zidane barely even registers the text hanging low by the display as he charges onward to the final room.

_The Gulug stone._

The heartbeat of Oeilvert, if Kuja's interest is any indication.

It looks harmless enough, small and unassuming, with a strange shimmering sheen to the blue gem fastened to its core. Zidane reaches out to touch it, eager, but feels a harsh grip on his arm as he's suddenly tugged backwards.

He nearly stumbles. "Whoa! Dagger?!"

She looks agitated, eyes wide and panicked while glued to the stone, gesturing to it frantically. Mouths again.

"She _must_ mean something by all this magic talk," comments Freya. "She would not reference it without being deliberate."

"Can't be," drones Amarant again, "no-magi-"

Dagger stomps her foot loudly, and Amarant blanches. She looks at Zidane pleadingly.

Zidane's brows furrow. "Dagger..."

She clutches at his gloved hand with her own, squeezes it. Mouths again.

"You've been like this this whole time, haven't you? Since we got here. Since that time with the epitaph when it kept summoning-" He freezes. "Wait."

Her eyes light up.

"The epitaph summoning... Magic... Summoning magic." He grips her hand back, tighter. "You were talking about _summoning_. With all that airship talk, too-"

She points to her pendant. _Alexander._

"What-"

She points to the Gulug stone.

And with a deafening scream, Ark crashes in from above.

 

  
***

  
_Thus He blotted out every living thing_

  
_that was upon the face of the land,_

  
_from man to animals_

  
_to creeping things and to birds of the sky,_

  
_and they were blotted out from the earth_

 

***

 

"An _eidolon_. An eidolon, not of Gaian origin."

"That's what Dagger was trying to tell us." Zidane wipes the sweat from his forehead with his arm as he sinks into a crouch by her side. "Gods, I'm tired..."

"She recognized it from the start. Oh, Dagger, I'm so sorry," Freya says gently, reaching out to hand her the pumice piece.

Dagger takes it, flips it over deftly, purses her lips, then shakes her head. Points again to her pendant, makes a splitting motion with her hands.

"It's broken," translates Zidane. "Just like Alexander's. We'll just have to find the other piece, then. We will, Dagger."

Dagger looks up at him, then shrugs.

He blinks. "Do you... not care if we do?"

She smiles at him, places a gloved finger gently to his temple, barely brushing a few locks of hair. Then to hers, and mouths four words.

_Thank you. For understanding._

"Dagger..." He swallows. "Jeez. Not being understood all day must have really grinded your gears, huh."

She laughs, albeit voicelessly, and pats his arm comfortingly. And he realizes it's the first time she's laughed in so long he can hardly recall the last. It must have been long before they set sail on the Blue Narciss. Before they reunited with her in his arms while Alexandria burned. Before he looked up at her on that balcony with what felt like miles and not _meters_ separating them. Before inheriting a crown weighing her down both in mind and body, before she wept openly on the shores of the Outer Continent, beneath that blazing sunset.

It's been _months._

It's so unexpected, he thinks. And then it hits him hard, just how _badly_ he missed her, that he nearly chokes.

Her smile falters and she peers at him in concern with those big brown eyes, and he clears his throat, his own voice shaky. "Sorry. We should... We should get going. The others are waiting for us back at the palace." He reaches his hand out. "You good?"

Nodding, she takes it.

 

***

 

_While the earth remains,_

  
_Seedtime and harvest,_

  
_And cold and heat,_

  
_And summer and winter,_

  
_And day and night_

  
_Shall not cease._

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Dagger figured it out so early on! Someone should just get her a notepad and pen.
> 
> I always found the epitaph to be a fascinating enemy. Part of me was intrigued by the concept of how harrowing an experience it might be to have to kill a doppelganger of someone you love, which was the original concept of this fic. The more I got into it, though, the more I realized that Dagger - a girl who lost her parents twice, watched her coronation end in blood and fire, saw her kingdom's eidolon die, and lost her voice from grief, but still manages to trek on regardless - would probably not throw a fit over a slab of rock. Dagger has seen some shit. It would take much more to break her down, and to have her do so so easily would be doing her character a great disservice.
> 
> That said, the other interesting facet of the epitaphs is how it almost seems to summon its doppelgangers from the party's collective memory. Kind of like how summoners call eidolons from the planet's collective memory! Pretty bizarre parallel, innit? And that's what I ended up exploring instead. 
> 
> The biblical references are, of course, for the fact that Ark, like its namesake, was made to assist the transition from the old world to the new world.


End file.
